What kind of brothers are we, if not brothers by heart?
by theintrovertedwallflower
Summary: Seated in the passenger seat of the Impala, Sam glances across the expanse of the car towards Dean. When did things change between them? Is there any chance at regaining that brotherly affection they used to share, or has time altered their relationship beyond fixing? Based off Sam and Dean as of 9x15; will develop into the constellations of my own mind. Chapter 2: with young S&D!
1. The Family Business

**Well, hello there. I've never written a fanfiction before, so this is my first. I felt very angsty all of a sudden so I said hell, why not turn those emotions into a potentially life-ruining story about Sam and Dean's current affiliation. It's probably awful, butI'm not one to judge since I'd probably be biased; personally I've always hated my writings. But hey, I never know. Maybe some of you will enjoy it. :)**

**The first few paragraphs feature the present, and the rest is a flashback that will be continued late rin the following chapters.**

Sitting in the passenger seat of the '67 Impala, he glanced quickly at the driver. "Jerk," he said, hoping for the childish and immature reply he remembered his brother giving when they were younger. When they were innocent. When there was no Hell, no angels, and no apocalypse. When the only thing they had to worry about were demons and the empty road ahead.

Things were different now. Sure, there was always some uneasiness between him and Dean, no matter how small it was. When Sam chose to abandon the family business as a teenager to pursue a normal life, he knew that it upset both his father and brother deeply. But at that time, nothing else mattered to him except for getting out an escaping from the life predestined for him. He thought he had created his own destiny. He planned it out – go to college, attend law school, fit in and be another face in the crowd. No more demons, no more supernatural. Just an ordinary, average, apple pie life.

But he should have known better. Once in the family business, always in the family business. Looking back at his past decisions and analyzing his current predicament, Sam realizes that. The only words uttered between him and his brother over the past day were simple facts about the current job. It had been like this for the last week now, nothing but quick, breathless murmurs and bickering arguments passing between the two.

It all started with what seemed like a normal evening. The brothers had just finished a stressful case that called for assistance from the angel Castiel. When Sam came about consecutive weekly newspapers from the humble town of Wabash, Indiana involving decapitations, he didn't think the situation would be an attempt from Abbadon to lure him and his brother, and therefore Crowley, to a metropolis overtaken by demons and fallen angels out for the kill. In light of recent events, Sam still felt enraged at Dean for allowing Gadreel to penetrate his deepest interior corridors. Subsequently, Dean had also begun to develop doubts as to whether or not he could rely on his brother to be trustworthy in the future. So when the event that Sam chose to dig into revealed itself to be trap, you can imagine the uncertainties that Dean felt towards Sam. Could he rely on Sam being aware of the dangers that their spontaneous lives presented to them on a daily basis? Feeling uneasy about the steadiness of their relationship since Sam revealed that he would not have done the same as Dean when he placed his trust in whom he believed to be Ezekiel while Sam was in his dying, coma-induced state, Dean thought to himself, _There must have been some way to tell that this was a setup. Maybe Sam's just not on his A-game yet. _If Castiel hadn't arrived when he did, the brothers would have surely faced certain death. Abbadon had fled the scene when she realized Crowley had not followed them, but not without first commanding her brethren to corner the two in an abandoned warehouse.

His worriedness about his brother's current mental state was what led Dean to impose further questioning when they returned to the bunker late that night. "Listen, Sammy. I know you've told me not to bother you about this again, but tonight was a close call. How about I let you rest for the next few days while I skim – "

"Dean, stop. I know what you're going to suggest. I thought I was clear the last time – I'm perfectly fine. I can handle whatever life has to throw at me, I mean seriously, I've only been a part of this life for how long now? Since I was eight? Wait, scratch that, I was _destined_ for this life ever since that night Mom died and Azazel fed me demon blood. Some time in the near future, you need to face the facts. I've been a part of this life just as long as you, and you can't treat me like your younger brother anymore." Sam took a brief moment to reflect upon his own words. Sure, he and Dean close, hell they were brothers after all, but he was older now, a grown up. He didn't need to be treated as an inferior. He didn't require the protection of his older brother. He could depend on himself. Couldn't Dean just understand?

"Trust me, I understand. But you're my little bro, it's my job to watch over you and keep you safe, no matter what. Sammy – "

Sam once again cut him short. "You know what," he said, finally letting his emotions prevail, "I'm done with this whole big brother, little brother deal. Yeah, sure, we're brothers. But only by blood. If you're going to continue to use your position as the elder to rule that it's your duty to ensure my safety, then I don't want to be your brother by heart anymore. I'm my own person, Dean, and you need to get that through that thick skull of yours. I realize that you have your own needs, and that you can't stand being alone, hence why you chose to trust an angel that you never even met before – you know what, now that I mention that, don't you think that was foolish on your part? You need to look at the situation from both sides, Dean. Maybe I'm not the only one that can't be relied upon," Sam stated, his voice rising throughout his speech. After releasing the some of the most inner thoughts of his mind, he had realized that he might have said too much.

Dean stared back at him with a sorrowful glare. What did this mean? Sure, Sam would still want to be involved in the job, but for how much longer? If they were to no longer be "brothers by heart", would he still want to remain in the family business after everything was over, after they finally finished with their battles against Heaven, and Abbadon, and Hell, and whatever other force currently in the works? Dean began to say more, but decided it was better not to. His two cents would just make the situation even worse. Maybe walking away this far into such a heated argument would make him a coward or quitter, or maybe it wouldn't. He didn't know, and frankly, he couldn't force himself to care anymore. No matter what Sam would say, there was no such thing as a brother if not a brother by heart. Feeling as if a thousand walls had just been smashed to pieces inside him, Dean backed away and retreated to his room, but not without glancing at the Sam before him, the last Sam that he would consider to be his own brother…


	2. Nostalgia

**Thank you to all who have read this story and are currently following it! I appreciate you and your willingess to keep on … well, reading. :)**

**That being said, I am so sorry for this next chapter – to me, it's saddening. Also, a surprise near the end. Hehe.**

Feeling utterly empty inside, Dean wandered down the labyrinth of hallways towards his bedroom. After what seemed liked hours of aimless strolling, he found himself in a corridor so far away from his destination that it was on the other side of the bunker, a place he rarely traversed. How had he ended up here? He knew where he was, it just felt like he wasn't actually himself; his mind seemed to be off in some distant land that was nearly impossible to find. All Dean had wanted was to lock himself in isolation in his own room with his headphones blaring.

It felt like a machete had just pierced through his soul.

After fifteen minutes of travelling though even more empty hallways, Dean finally neared his bedroom door and reached for the handle, however he couldn't get his hand to turn the knob. Staring blankly at the metal exterior of the door, Dean couldn't do anything. It felt like he was frozen in time.

Suddenly, it was as if a tornado of nostalgia had torn through the passageway. Dean leaned forward ever so slightly, placing his forehead against the cool plated door and shutting his eyes as he let his mind succumb to the silence, the only noise being the steady flow of blood rushing through his veins and the beating of his own heart.

He recalled a memory from when he was about thirteen years old and Sam was nine:

_It was a cool, mid-Autumn afternoon and the two brothers were cooped up inside a cheap motel room while their father was out hunting some demon that might have connections to the weasel that murdered their mother. The previous year, Sam had learned about the family business and frankly, he was handling it quite well. He had even revealed a knack for knife throwing. Being the third day of their father's hunt and with nothing but short and to-the-point voicemails to know of their dad's current situation, Sam had begun to grow impatient. In light of recent events involving a close call with a werewolf, Dean had received strict orders to make sure both him and Sam remained inside at all times, no exceptions. However, Sam's continual complaints were driving Dean crazy._

"_Can we please go outside, pleeaasseee? Just for a minute?" Sam whined, glancing longingly towards the meadow and park across the street. Because of demonic threats, he had been deprived of the seemingly normal childhood experiences that most children his age had enjoyed numerous times already. The only time he had ever been to baseball field or swing set was with his Uncle Bobby, who would look after the two brothers on occasion while their father was off on a long hunting jaunt. Bobby provided them with what he referred to as "the building blocks of youth", taking them to the baseball diamond to swing a bat, teaching them how to ride a bide along smooth trails, and helping the two gather leaves into piles to jump into._

_It had been nearly two years since Bobby had contact with the Winchester family; the only relevant information young Dean could gather was that his father and Bobby had had a major disagreement, resulting in discommunication. That being said, it had been well over two years since either of the boys participated in the Autumn fun. _

_Dean looked through the glass and across the expanse, taking in the view of the park that his younger brother looked at with great yearning. He had shared the same experiences with Bobby as Sam had, and he missed those joyful, carefree times. The boy weighted his options: to go or not to go, to disobey his father and potentially put both his brother and himself at risk or relive the joyous experiences that average children relished?_

_13-year-old Dean scanned his brother's expression-filled face once more before making his choice. "What the hell," he sighed. "Might as well enjoy the weather while it lasts."_

_He would never forget the look of utter happiness that spread across Sammy's face after speaking those words._

_Fifteen minutes later, the brothers were wavering side by side on the swing set, just enjoying each other's presence. Dean, of course, continued to keep a constant eye out for anything out of the ordinary that might reveal itself to be a threat, and his fingers occasionally swiped over the handle of the knife he kept tucked underneath his shirt. _You can never be too careful, _he thought._

_The rest of the afternoon was spent in various parts of the park: on the slide and monkeybars, along the walking path that went around the circumference of the park, in the meadowy field adjacent to the park, where the siblings played a few games of tag and lain face-up._

_Before they knew it, the sky began to darken and Dean announced that they would return to the motel. When the two trekked across the road between the park and the motel earlier in the day, there had been almost no traffic. However, the time seemed to be approaching rush hour, and a noticably larger percentage of cars were now travelling on the street. There being no walkway across, they would have to run across quickly like they did previously. Wanting to ensure their safety, Dean waited about ten minutes until there was no traffic and it was safe to cross. As the two crossed the midpoint of the road, a sudden squeaking noise followed by the sound of a fast-approaching vehicle could be heard to their left. As Dean turned his head to find the source, he was stricken with the feeling of abrupt terror as headlights burned his eyes._

_Suddenly, the world seemed to move in slow-motion. Dean could almost count the number of feet between him and the out of control car. 20, 16, 12, 8… The loud rumbling of the car began to pierce through his ears, almost deafening him. In the midst of the chaos, Dean thought he heard something along the lines of wings flapping nearby. But how could that be possible? The sounds of the car were much louder than anything he had ever heard before, let alone a bird in flight. _

_The last thing young Dean had remembered was Sam's shrill scream before he blacked out. _

_He awoke later that evening in the bed of the run-down motel room with Sammy to his right side, offering him a cold glass of water._

"…_Sammy? What… what happened?" Dean groggily uttered. "Is it still Thursday?"_

"_Yes," Sam relpied. Dean took the water glass from his hands._

_Quickly, the image of the car with its headlights focused on himself and his brother filled Dean's mind. "Oh my God. The car. _The car._ How are we even alive?"_

_Sammy gave the other boy a perplexed look. "I don't know," he whispered. "All I know is that one moment we were in front of the car and the next moment, I was standing in this room, and you were passed out on the floor. You scared me, Dean."_

"_I'm sorry, Sammy. I should have been paying more attention to the traffic." Silence then filled the room. "Are you sure that you don't remember anything else?"_

"_There… there was a man."_

"_A man? Who?" Dean pushed on, testing Sam, seeing if he knew anything else about what just happened._

"_I couldn't get myself to look at his face. There was a bright light around him. It blinded me and I couldn't see him, " Sammy replied, feeling as if he had disappointed his brother. "And then he touched us."_

"_Touched… us?"_

"_On the shoulders. And then we were here."_

**[back to the bunker and the present]**

It felt so good to have an object to completely support himself; Dean's body moved into a sloping position against the metal of the door. He could almost imagine that the previous events of the day were nonexistent, that he was just an ordinary, simple man who had taken a long slumber and dreamt up the world in which he faced off against demons and halted the apocalypse. _Almost,_ but not quite.

Just as Dean was reaching the high of his content state, Sam's foregoing words crashed through his mind like a tsunami entirely covering a town with its harsh waters. _I don't want to be brothers by heart… I can protect myself… You need to look at the situation from both sides._ Dean forced his eyes to shut even tighter, wincing at the recollection of the argument. He needed to get away from this; he needed an escape from his own mind.

Dean pushed the door open finally, slamming it shut and resting his back against the other side. _What ever happened to those calm, soothing, mid-Autumn days? Where was his Sammy, the one he knew and loved?_


	3. Author's Note

**Author's Note:**

**Sorry for not updating for the past few days. I originally intended to add a new chapter every night, however I have a lot of things to do for school and the likes. I'll definitely be writing another chapter by Friday; I'm aiming however for Wednesday. Sorry! Will post soon. :)**


	4. Another Author's Note

**Hi everybody! So, so sorry for not updating this fic over the weekend. I know exactly how the next few chapters will play out, but I just can't find a way to put my thoughts into words. I feel like my writing would be oversimplified and dull and boring if I tried to force myself to write when I'm not in the mood. Honestly though, I just can't find a way to make it sound good at the moment. If I attempted to write a chapter right now, it would probably turn out to be something like this:**

**Sam stood there. **

**Sam went to the store.**

**Sam wanted to buy milk.**

**Sam went to the dairy section and stared at the milk. **

**Sam was confused.**

**Sam grabbed the milk. **

**Sam was confused.**

**Sam was confused.**

**Sam was confused and tired.**

**Sam didn't end up buying milk.**

**Sam went back to the bunker.**

**So basically, I don't want to force myself to write and make it awfully boring. Hopefully, however, I'll be able to formulate an interesting and readable chapter or two or maybe three by the end of the week.**

**Once again, so sorry and thanks for sticking with it so far!**


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